The Librarian
(Sprache: Englisch)
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And then came the whirlwind, breakneck sequence ofbloody events with which my new life began. It all happened
literally in seconds.
The man who was walking towards us suddenly shuddered and
collapsed to his knees, holding one hand to his temple, and beside
him the short crowbar that someone had flung out of the darkness
landed on the ground with a dull thud. The previous day's Yeltsinhater,
the bald, husky man with the paper bundle, was already
beside the driver. He made a stabbing movement and the bundle
suddenly buried itself in his adversary's stomach, so that the paper
folded up concertina-wise around the bald man's fist. He jerked
his hand back out, and I saw a long, straight blade. The bald man
drove his weapon into the driver's side for good measure and the
driver slumped down, lifeless, onto the ground. The killer deftly
wiped down the blade with the crumpled paper.
Kolesov manage to run off a couple of metres, but he was overtaken
by the false dacha folk. I heard the dull sounds of a struggle.
Alik tried to say something, but instead of words he belched
out blood. The point of a knitting needle was protruding from
his throat. Standing behind him was an elderly woman, the same
one who had been knitting on the bench. Alik shuddered and
another needle ran through the hand that he was holding over
his Adam's apple.
The mechanic appeared, picked up the fallen crowbar and
finished off the dying man with a sharp blow to the back of the
head, then informed the elderly woman who had done in red-faced
Alik with her needles:
"This one's finished, Margarita Tikhonovna."
Tucking the crowbar into his belt, he gave me a conspiratorial
wink and said, "No noise now!"
A dark-coloured RAF minibus drove up with its lights off. Two
men jumped out of it and started deftly throwing the corpses into
the back. The men acted swiftly, in unison.
Repeatedly casting anxious glances at me through her glasses,
Margarita Tikhonovna whispered:
"Quietly
... mehr
now, quietly, everything's fine, just keep it quiet..."
The dacha lady came running up to her. Her vegetable-garden
implement turned out to be a short pike. She held out the confiscated
book and called in a whisper:
"Pal Palych, hurry up."
The man with the moustache dragged over Kolesov, bound
and gagged, and flung him crudely into the RAF.
The bald man said to Margarita Tikhonovna:
"I'll go with Palych in their car and we'll follow you."
"No, Igor Valeryevich, you come with us and Pal Palych will
manage on his own," she said, carefully tucking the book into the
cuff of her cardigan before adding the command: "Let's clear out!"
Nudging me gently in the back, the bald man moved me onto
a side seat in the minibus and perched on the seat beside me. The
mechanic and the women also climbed in, the door slammed, and
the RAF set off into the darkness.
I should say that while the massacre was taking place I stood there
without stirring a muscle, as if I had turned to stone, and probably
couldn't have given a shout, even if I had wanted to-I was struck
completely dumb by the shock.
Scenes flashed in front of my eyes from television reports about
bandits who found out about apartment sales from inside informers.
If Kolesov himself were not in a rather sorry state, I would have
assumed that he had set everything up, but since we hadn't signed
any documents yet, such behaviour made no sense.
Nightmarish questions buzzed around inside my head like an
enraged swarm of bees: "Could the bandits really have made a
mistake in their haste? What's going to happen to me? I have been
left alive and they haven't even laid a finger on me. But why, or
more to the point, for how long? Until it becomes clear that I don't
have any money and the sale hasn't taken place?"
K
The dacha lady came running up to her. Her vegetable-garden
implement turned out to be a short pike. She held out the confiscated
book and called in a whisper:
"Pal Palych, hurry up."
The man with the moustache dragged over Kolesov, bound
and gagged, and flung him crudely into the RAF.
The bald man said to Margarita Tikhonovna:
"I'll go with Palych in their car and we'll follow you."
"No, Igor Valeryevich, you come with us and Pal Palych will
manage on his own," she said, carefully tucking the book into the
cuff of her cardigan before adding the command: "Let's clear out!"
Nudging me gently in the back, the bald man moved me onto
a side seat in the minibus and perched on the seat beside me. The
mechanic and the women also climbed in, the door slammed, and
the RAF set off into the darkness.
I should say that while the massacre was taking place I stood there
without stirring a muscle, as if I had turned to stone, and probably
couldn't have given a shout, even if I had wanted to-I was struck
completely dumb by the shock.
Scenes flashed in front of my eyes from television reports about
bandits who found out about apartment sales from inside informers.
If Kolesov himself were not in a rather sorry state, I would have
assumed that he had set everything up, but since we hadn't signed
any documents yet, such behaviour made no sense.
Nightmarish questions buzzed around inside my head like an
enraged swarm of bees: "Could the bandits really have made a
mistake in their haste? What's going to happen to me? I have been
left alive and they haven't even laid a finger on me. But why, or
more to the point, for how long? Until it becomes clear that I don't
have any money and the sale hasn't taken place?"
K
... weniger
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Mikhail Elizarov
- 2015, 416 Seiten, Maße: 13,5 x 21,6 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Übersetzer: Andrew Bromfield
- Verlag: Pushkin Press
- ISBN-10: 1782270272
- ISBN-13: 9781782270270
- Erscheinungsdatum: 14.04.2015
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Elizarov's novel, winner of the 2008 Russian Booker Prize, is a satire about the absurdity of blind faith and the way people fool themselves into believing in systems in which they are forced to inhabit... this chaotic tale puts a magical twist on its satire." -- Publishers Weekly "[A] brilliant winner of the Russian Booker Prize.... Immensely entertaining, The Librarian lives up to comparisons to the work of Gogol and Bulgakov while being very much its own thing." - Jeff VanderMeer, Slate
" The Librarian reads like cold fire, full of Russian stoicism, honor and intense formality, but the rhythm of the words is hypnotic." -Luke Goldstein, Blogcritics
"By turns absurdist, satirical, and downright funny: The Librarian takes a page from every book. . . The Librarian is original, delightfully weird and dark, and so frequently funny, this book will have no problem conscripting new English readers." - Asymptote
"Powerful, disturbing, and at the same time, uplifting." - Vzgliad
"A truly bright author and an ingenious writer." - Vladimir Sorokin, author of Ice Trilogy and Day of the Oprichnik
"The most radical of Russian Booker winners." - Snob.ru
"Elizarov is an heir to the classic Russian writers." - Prochtenie.ru
"Uncompromising, bizarre and desperate." - Gazeta.ru
"How words can be more dangerous than machine-guns." - Proza.ru
"A world of myths... and a requiem for a broken country." - Questions of Literature
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